Context:
| Location: |
Market Rasen, Lincolnshire (TF1089) |
| Year: |
Publ. 1884 |
| Time of Occurrence: |
Christmas |
| Collective Name: |
Plough-Jags |
|
Source:
Edwin Whelpton
Meadow Sweet or The Wooing of Iphis: A Pastoral. Vol.II
London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1884, pp.267-284
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Cast:
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Text:
{Iphis had heard her father say it before,
and she hoped that there would be no one
else there on the same errand. She had
some repugnance to playing the part of a
nymph or naiad. But oh, how tired she was
of inaction, sitting there from day to day!
She had nothing to do but sit and think;
walking about the kitchen floor upset her.
So much thinking was not good for her.
Ephraim Sparrow came too much into it,
making her despondent and miserable. She
had not a chance to hear of him, good or bad.
She was a prisoner, and her illness precluded
her from concocting any plan of sending
message or word-of-mouth encouragement.}
{'The plough-jags are out,' said the farmer.
'I wonder if they'll retch us.'}
{He sat after tea opposite her, his slippered
feet on the fender. He had given up his side
of the fireplace for the invalid, and usurped
his wife's. He thought it would stir up in
Iphis some expectancy and interest. Her
face was mournful and full of weariness, and
her dejection preyed upon his mind. But she
did not show much enthusiasm.}
{The lamp was lit, the same old dreary repetition
of evening followed - the monotonous
tick of the clock, the as monotonous click of
her mother's knitting or her needle, and the
protracted yawns of, her father, which were
catching. Occasionally her father bestowed a
glance upon his wife, or furtively looked across
at Iphis.}
{Outside more snow had fallen. It was a
moonless night, and looking out of doors one
was constrained indeed to be thankful, that
one's lot was not with the houseless. It was
a matter for congratulation having not the
slightest occasion to go over the threshold.
Out in the lane there were voices, the servant
girl intimated as much. She was a little
timid, and judged that her superiors would
see with her the impropriety and irregularity
of such a thing as callers on such a night.}
{The girl listened again, gently opening
the scullery window; voices were clear and
tremulous owing to the atmosphere. Hearing
her master's previous remark, it was just
possible that she suspected the mission of
those whose voices preceded them. She was
burning to witness what she suspected, but
alarmed at the contingency. I think some of
us would have a similar feeling if we had to
go into action. It was indeed an amazing
spectacle. One might have imagined oneself
beholding a few stragglers from an army of a
past and more picturesque age - camp followers
dressed out in stolen nondescript
finery. The party advanced irregularly, proceeding
in file as well as they could, if it was
for nothing else but easy marching in a beaten
track. The leader sported a chocolate cocked
hat, plumed with goose feathers, and his jacket
was indeed no less gorgeous than wonderful
to behold, but it almost gave the impression
of the wearer being an animal rather than a
man. By his side stalked a smart fellow
sporting a militia uniform. Behind them followed
others attired more or less grotesquely.
There was a guy wearing a low white hat and
drab smock, a burlesque of a doctor, a lady
revealing fustian trousers, her gown gathered
up to avoid the snow. Another travestie of a
woman, carrying a doll which was supposed
to represent a baby. St. George, a young
fellow in his ordinary clothes, making believe
as well as he could, but carrying a wooden
sword. Behind them the tag-rag of Willowby,
who followed the party in their round. The
mummers were somewhat arrogant and pretentious,
receiving with some condescension
the adulation and homage of the party in their
wake.}
{Reaching Cowlamb's gate there was some
parley. It was to insist that the rabble should
stay out in the lane. The language was forcible,
the retort equally uncourteous, the remonstrance
ineffectual; for on reaching Cowlamb's
door, the leader, turning round, beheld
the whole party behind him. He had a few
smothered imprecations, for the door opened,
to be abruptly closed in his face by the
affrighted servant girl. It was, indeed, an
alarming parade. There was a multitude of
faces, some of them so daubed up with colour
as to appear fiendishly distorted. Boldness is a
virtue among mummers. The leader opened
the door quickly upon the retreating girl, and
they followed her in as she heralded their approach
in apprehensive accents-}
{'Missis, the plough-jags! The plough-jags!'}
{Formerly some roughness was only too
common among the party who constituted
the cast. Their disguise gave them a carnival
license. The tradition of their lawlessness
still held.}
{'Let 'em come in' shouted Cowlamb,
with astonishing urbanity, as if relenting.
He rose and saw the posse behind the
mummers, and his voice changed. 'Now then;
out ya go. We can't ha' this door oppen to
suit ye. We've badly folks i' th' house.'}
{It had its effect; but some few stealthily
screened themselves behind the company;
waxing more confident, they advanced
boldly into the large kitchen, one or two
audaciously occupying vacant chairs which
were placed conveniently near the point of
exit.}
{Iphis sat upright, a little excited with the
advent of such a party. The man in the
cocked hat had his face ochred and grimed;
his dress was a mass of short coloured ribbons,
of all the colours of the rainbow, but crimson
and blue predominating. He raised his hat
to her with the courtesy of a Lord High
Admiral, and after some badinage with Cowlamb,
cleared his throat and began the epilogue
with an astonishing amount of assurance and
condescension :-}
[Fool]
Good evening, kind ladies and gentlemen all,
It's a merry time this Christmas, makes me so bold to call.
'I hope you will not be offended at what I've got to say
in a short time. There be some lads and lasses this way :-'
Some can dance, and some can sing,
By your consent they shall come in.
Hooker, spoker, sprance, and sprain [(Hocus, pocus, France, and Spain)] ,
Here comes the noble sergeant of the same.
{'Thou'rt the fool then?' interrupted
Cowlamb.}
{A glance of the eye assented. The interruption
was regarded as inopportune. Meanwhile
the Sergeant marched forward, in stately
fashion, delivering himself tête-à-tête with the
Fool :-}
[Sergeant]
In comes the noble sergeant, arrived here just now.
My orders is to 'list all men that follow horse, cart, or plough,
Likewise tinker, tailor, pedlar, nailer,
All other fools that likes to advance-
The more I hears the fiddle play the better I can dance.
Fool.
If thou begins either to dance, sing, or say,
I shall very soon march away.
{Sergeant sings, a concertina striking up
somewhere behind him :-}
Kind people give attention, and listen to my song,
I'll tell you of a young man, the time before it's long;
He's almost broken-hearted, the truth I will declare,
Since love has enticed him, and drawn him in a snare.
{(The youth with the wooden sword advances,
carrying it before him somewhat
shamefacedly).}
[Saint George]
In comes I, Saint George, with courage stout and bold;
With my broad sword I won ten thousand pounds in gold;
I fought with the fiery dragon, and brought him to his slaughter;
By these few means I gained the King's eldest daughter.
I hacked him, I smashed him as small as flies,
And sent him over to Jamaica to make mince pies.
Sergeant.
Thou hacked him and smashed him as small as flies,
And sent him over to Jamaica to make mince pies?
Pray thee, man, hold thy lies, or thou wilt raise my blood;
If thou be the King I dare face thee.
St. George.
No king am I that's plain to see,
But with my broadsword I dare face thee.
Lady {(advancing sings) -}
In comes the lady bright and gay,
Good fortune and good charms;
How scornfully I was thrown away
Into that young man's arms!
{Iphis, hitherto regarding all with some
contempt and a curled lip, started. The
voice struck a chord in her heart. She looked
across at her father, who was regarding the
fool's play with a broad smile. It was ridiculous
nonsense, the farmer was thinking, grown
men making themselves a laughing-stock
for a few shillings at Christmas time; still it
was an old custom, and it amused him
a little. Iphis saw that her father was
not startled with the voice. She watched
the lady, but the dark veil which the individual
was chary of raising quite precluded
identification. The Fool was taking her hand
gallantly.}
[Fool]
Not at all, madam; by the ring on your hand and the tear in your eye,
Pray tell to me the reason it's for why.
Lady {(sings)} .
Kind sir, if I was to tell you the reason it's for why.
It's all for that young man that makes me sob and sigh;
He swears if I don't marry him, as you shall understand,
He will 'list all for a soldier into some foreign land.
Sergeant {(sings).}
Come all you lads that's a mind for 'listing,
'list, and do not be afraid.
You shall have all kinds of liquor,
likewise kiss the pretty maid;
Ten bright guineas shall be your bounty if along with me you go.
Your hat with ribbons shall be trimmed, likewise cut a gallant show.
St. George.
Now, kind sir, I take your offer; time will sweetly pass;
Dash me if I grieve any longer for a proud and saucy lass.
{(Affects to take shilling.)}
Lady {(sings).}
It's true my love has 'listed and gone to volunteer,
I never mean to sigh for him, nor for him shed one tear;
I never mean to wed with him, I'll have him for to know-
I'll have another sweetheart and along with him I'll go.
Fool.
You shall have a waiting-maid
to wait at year command.
If you'll consent to wed with me,
we'll be married off at hand.
Lady {(lackadaisically).}
My thoughts was of having a farmer's son.
{Iphis laughed. There was some irony in
the voice, some meaning intended for her, she
knew. Her father felt himself rewarded with
that laugh. It was healthy and honest, but
he imagined she was amused with the Fool's
chagrin.}
Fool.
If them be your thoughts, madam,
I have done;
you may take all your farmer's sons
and wed with all your heart.
Although my name is Roger,
I can follow horse, cart, or plough,
I need not tarry long before I get a wife.
There's old buxom Jones;
she is very well known;
she loves me as her life.
Lame Jane {(humpbacked and walking with crutch-stick).}
Dost thou mean me, my dear?
Fool {(pushing her aside).}
Ask my white leg.
Lady.
What makes you speak so much of buxom Jones?
Can't I please thee as well?
While she is not worth one penny,
and I have got buxom Nell to be sung, oh.
I have got forty shillings, love,
and that's a glorious thing;
if you will consent to wed with me
unto you I will them bring.
Fool.
Oh, if you've got forty shillings,
I have got fifty more,
so that and thou will buy an old cow.
So we will shake hands in wedlock bands,
{singing, -}
Wo, sweet Nelly and I
Lame Jane.
In comes old lame Jane,
dabbling over the meadow;
Once I was a blooming young maid, but now I'm a down old widow.
Long have I sought thee, but now I have caught thee.
Since thou called me a bad un, Tommy,
Pray thee, take thy bastard.
Fool.
Bastard, Janey, it's not a bit like me;
what is it, male or female?
Lame Jane.
It's a male.
Fool.
Why, mine are all females.
I am a valiant man just returned from sea.
You never saw me in your life before, did you?
Lame Jane.
Not as I know on;
but look at its eyes, mouth, nose, and chin.
It's as much like thou as ever it can grin.
Fool {(in a rage).}
It's not a bit like me;
pray thee be off and spoon it.
Beelzebub.
In comes old Beelzebub,
And on my back I carry a club.
And under my arm a white leather dripping pan.
My grey locks they hing so low.
I speak for myself, as far as I know.
Fool.
Wipe thy eyes old man, and thou wilt see clear.
Beelzebub.
Methinks I will.
{(Beelzebub is immediately cut down by
St. George.)}
Fool.
Five pounds for a doctor!
Voice.
Won't come under ten.
Fool.
Ten pounds for a doctor!
Doctor.
Good evening, kind ladies and gentlemen.
Here comes I the doctor.
Fool.
How came you to be a doctor?
Doctor {(donning glassless spectacles).}
I have travelled for it.
Fool.
Where have you travelled through?
Doctor.
Through England, Ireland, France, and Spain,
Come back to old England a-doctoring again.
Fool.
What can you cure?
Doctor.
I can cure ipsy-pipsy, palsy, and the gout,
Where there is nineteen pains I can fetch one-and-twenty out.
And I have a drop of stuff in this bottle
That will physic rats, poison cats.
Or bring a dead man to life again.
Fool {(pointing to prone Beelzebub).}
You seem a clever man - try your skill.
Doctor.
Yes sir, so I will;
I will feel on this man's pulse.
Fool.
Is that where a man's pulse lies?
Doctor.
Yes, it's the strongest part about a man.
This foolish man has been trying a new experiment.
Fool.
What's that, doctor?
Doctor.
Why, he's been trying to cut his throat with a rolling pin.
He is only in a trance.
Strike up the little box
and we will all have a dance.
{A polka was played on the concertina, the
gay Sergeant pairing with the lady, St.
George with lame Jane, and the party rattled
their heels on the kitchen floor until Mrs.
Cowlamb began to feel exceedingly sensitive.
The lady's veil was pushed up; and although
the lady's face was screened by the tall soldier,
it contrived to attract Iphis's eye at every
round. Iphis saw that it was Ephraim; he
had ventured into the lion's den.}
Fool.
What's all this dance jigging about?
Sergeant.
Sport, father.
Fool.
Sport? You sport till you kill yourself.
My father and grandfather was a terrible jumper, and so am I.
Sergeant.
How came your grandfather to he such a terrible jumper?
Fool.
Why, he ran to the pond and pulled off his clothes, and said he would commit suicide.
Sergeant.
And then what did he do?
Fool,
He put on his clothes and came away again.
Sergeant.
How came your father to be such a terrible jumper?
Fool.
Why, he jumped so high he never came down again of seven years,
and when he came down he had a wife and seven small children,
of which I am the oldest and boldest and most terrible jumper.
Sergeant.
How came you to be such a terrible jumper?
Fool.
Why, I jumped and dropped against a pretty little milkmaid.
Sergeant.
Did you court her?
Fool.
Yes, I courted her for the milk she sold,
And she courted me for the lies I told.
[All]
{All sing (while the Fool holds his box for
contributions).}
Good masters and good mistresses, as you sit round the fire.
Remember us poor plough-boys that plough through mud and mire.
The mire is so deep and the water is so clear,
And we thank you for a Christmas box and a drop of your best beer.
{'It's taken a drop to colour that owd nose
o' yours, Jacob,' said Cowlamb, as the Fool
held the box before him.}
Lame Jane.
And a bit of your porkpie,
I'm as hungry as an old fool's dry.
Fool.
Thou ist always hungry.
Lame Jane.
And thou ist always dry.
{Cowlamb made a motion with his head,
and on a side table appeared Christmas cheer
and the beer longed for most. And while
they were eating and drinking Cowlamb
occupied himself in recognising each man
under his disguise. Lame Jane he found to
be a neer-do-weel Willowby labourer, fonder
of the 'Brown Cow' than daily labour. But
the lady persistently kept her veil over her
eyes, or her face in shadow, and Cowlamb
could not identify the individual. Refreshment
over, to which due justice had been
rendered, it was now for them to take their
leave.}
Fool,
I have just had a letter, my dear; can you read it?
Lady.
The print is so small, you had better read it yourself.
Fool.
Dear Tom - dear Tom Bowling,
You had better leave off strolling,
Come home to your wife and family.
They are all sighing;
they are all crying; -
So here goes -
[All]
{(All sing, marching round).}
Good masters and good mistresses, you see our fool has gone,
We will make it our business to follow him along.
We thank you for civility, and what youVe given us here,
And we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year.
{At the last march round, Cowlamb pulled
the fair unknown round; the expression of
good-fellowship in his face changed instantly
to one of rage, for in the lady of the 'plough-jags'
he recognised the blacksmith's apprentice,
and Iphis sitting there must have known
it all along. For anything he knew something
might have passed between them.}
{What messages could not a lover flash
with his eyes!}
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Notes:
Indexer's Notes
The play text is incorporated the novel. In the chapter entitled 'Plough-Jags', an unwell farmer's daughter, Iphis Cowlamb, is visited in disguise as a Plough-Jag by her lover, Ephraim Sparrow, an apprentice blacksmith of whom her father disapproves.
Edwin Whelpton (1849-1925) was born and lived his whole life in Market Rasen, Lincolnshire. His day job was as a painter and decorator. We need to assume that this play was local to the vicinity of Market Rasen, although it could possibly have been obtained from relations elsewhere in Lincolnshire. The Whelpton surname was found throughout the North Riding of Lindsey.
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File History:
2025-02-03 - Encoded by Peter Millington
2025-02-04 - TEI-encoded by Peter Millington
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Extras:
Dramaturgical Chart
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Text Relatives Map
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